High on Believing
by Evilnor
Summary: Inspired by the recent Guardians of the Galaxy trailer. Loki's new hosts aren't treating him very well when he finally receives some visitors he's convinced are imaginary. Following revelations have sanity-breaking consequences for more than just Loki. Set before and after the Avengers.


Disclaimer: I don't own Avengers, Loki, Guardians of the Galaxy, or any other related Marvel property I'm happily obsessed with at the moment.

**High on Believing**

It had been days since they took his sight, or as near as Loki could figure, at least. It was a little hard to judge time without any outside stimuli, such as light. They'd gouged out his eyes and served them as tasty morsels to something or other, then sewn his eyelids shut. They may have grown back by now, but he had no way of knowing. Before that, it had been his legs and any other external body part they figured he could live without. Protests, obscenities, and even screaming had proved utterly useless, so they'd effectively taken his voice, too, though his tongue remained to him. What little magic he had left was sadistically forcing him to cling to life, though he'd since stopped consciously wanting it. _Traitor._ All he still possessed of his old life was his name, the only thing that had ever been only his, and it was a gift from thieves. Truly, what was the point to life when there was only darkness and self-pity?

He was long past caring how long he'd been here. Now, it was all that was.

They didn't disturb him anymore, their scuttling long-since ceased in his area. The only company he had was the sound of his dry, ragged breathing and what few hallucinations came to him.

In fact, he was having one right now.

They usually came in the form of flashes of false color or light he knew were the result of his eyes trying to repair themselves, the crunch of rocks under chitinous boots, or an alien word he'd heard before but still didn't understand. He supposed these jump-scares were invented by his brain to keep him company, a way of fooling himself into thinking he hadn't been completely forgotten. Fortunately, he was such an adept liar, he knew when he was lying to himself.

This hallucination, though, was not made of light or shapes. It was made of sound, and it started quietly, as if from some distance. It was also gentler than what he was used to and made a sort of sense, as though it was a language he actually comprehended. And it was . . . singing?

"Aah ah ahh ah ahm, hooked on a feelin'!" sang a bright male tenor. It was almost as though he actually enjoyed being where he was.

Well, at least it was a new hallucination. He'd been starting to bore himself with his lack of imagination, lately.

Then, "Quill, would you shut up?" a low female voice reprimanded the singer, "We have no idea when they'll be back in this area. We need to get this artifact and get out, and you're practically broadcasting our position!"

Loki mentally congratulated himself. The female hallucination sounded feisty. If only he could imagine up an appearance for her, too, he could probably entertain himself for hours.

"Oh, come on. The Chitauri patrols don't go anywhere near this place. I could sing at the top of my lungs, and nobody would hear," the male voice sounded slightly dim-witted. Oh well, maybe not every hallucination could be a quality one.

"That wasn't what you were just doing?" the female voice said acidly.

As if to prove her wrong, the male voice started belting out what must have been the rest of the song, "I can't stop this feelin,' deep inside o' me, Girl, you just don't realize, what you do to me . . ."

He could barely hear the female sigh, but he knew it was there, as certain as he was that it really came from inside his head.

Loki had to admit that the song was fairly catchy, but he was certain he'd never heard it before. It was also getting louder, as though the singer was getting closer. When the male voice was back on the chorus, the loudness told him it was practically on top of him, screaming "Hooked on a feelin!" in his ear.

Loki didn't jump in startlement. It would've been quite silly to jump from his own hallucinations and expend valuable energy he could better use imagining ridiculous company.

There was a beep of some sort, and the singer cut himself off, "Woah."

"What?" the female voice implied readiness for attack.

"Looks like we're right on top of that artifact, whatever it is."

There was some shuffling of boots, some plastic and metal clicks, and a high-pitched electronic whine. There were also sounds akin to weapons shifting in trained hands.

The male hallucination made a disgusted noise, "Ugh, looks like we found their fridge."

"What's a fridge?"

"It's-" the male cut himself off again and sighed, "meat storage," he finally continued grimly, "This guy's definitely seen better days. Looks like he's got that power source we're looking for, though. Hang on, let me clean off this metal bit."

Visual or auditory hallucinations and even phantom pains where his legs used to be were expected, by now. Hallucinations when he could actually feel the pressure of a touch, though . . . those were new.

Loki couldn't help himself. When the hallucination named Quill brushed dirt off his metal collar, the focal point of his former armor, he flinched and gasped in surprise.

The sharp sound of a heavy man-shaped object falling to the dusty, rocky ground, and the male voice swore vehemently, "Holy shit, the dude's alive!"

In among his dry coughs from sudden air intake, he could hear the electronic whirr that sounded like an energy weapon charging, then the sound of it moving, as though someone pushed it aside. "No, don't," the male voice said, "He can't do anything to us."

"You don't know that," the female voice protested.

"Just look at him," Quill argued, "There's barely anything left of him."

"Yeah, just that power source, which we should take and _get out of here,_" the female insisted.

"Maybe he _is_ the power source," Quill snapped, "Ever think of that?"

There was silence when the female voice could have continued. Loki imagined a quietly attractive, fuming expression, much like some other female warrior he used to know. It was so difficult to remember names, now.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the male voice said in smug triumph.

There was a pause, a rustling of fabric, and this time, there was sensation on Loki's face. He flinched as he first felt what he could almost swear was a warm, flesh-and-blood hand against his chin, then a cottony fabric like a towel or handkerchief on the other side, as though the dream person was trying to clean his face. His exertions to avoid these insane perceptions only served to tire him, and by the time his face felt cleaner, or at least the dirt had been moved around to more distal regions, he found himself panting. Loki was frustrated at himself for letting his hallucinations provoke this much of a reaction from him. The jump-scares that may or may not have heralded the return of his captors for another helping of royal reject were bad enough.

"Hey," the male voice was coddling, now, trying far too hard to sound friendly, as though he were some feral puppy. Loki was beginning to hate this delusion. "There you are. I knew there was a face somewhere under all that muck. Can you talk? What's your name?"

Loki snorted and yanked his chin away from the warm, fleshy touch. This was getting even more ridiculous than it started. How cruel could he really be to himself? Could he really fool himself into believing that there were two neutral parties here willing to treat him as more than a literal piece of meat? It was utterly absurd.

"Hey!" the Quill hallucination almost sounded genuinely hurt, "Don't be like that. I'm Peter Quill, and this lovely lady over here is the glitzy green Gamora . . . aaaaaand you can't see us. Right. Well, let's get you down from there and over to our ship. I'm pretty sure we've got a first aid kit somewhere on there. We'll cut those stitches and patch you up, and you can tell us what that power source you've got is. Okay?"

Loki almost felt like laughing. In fact, he couldn't quite stop the smirk that curled one dry, cracked lip at the absurdity of it all.

"But first, you tell us your name so we're sure you understand us . . ."

A response was clearly expected. Well, this hallucination had been nicer than most, so he supposed adding a little further irrationality to it all by responding couldn't make things much worse than they were. He still wouldn't dignify it with the benefit of the doubt, though. Fallacies may make things more comfortable, but it was only worse when the truth became undeniable. Besides, since they were hallucinations, they were a product of his own mind, therefore already knew his name. Stating such information to them was therefore laughable. "What's the point?" Loki asked, completing the internal thought in his rasp of a voice. It was louder than he expected. "You're not real, anyway."

"Not real?" the Quill hallucination seemed confused, "Get this, he doesn't think we're real."

"I'd prefer that you weren't real, either," the Gamora hallucination groused, "Then, maybe I'd be able to do a stealth mission _quietly._"

There was a chuckle, and Loki imagined a toothy smile on an unshaven, rakish dolt's face. "Oh, don't mind her. I think she's just PMSing. Then again, she's like that a lot, so it might just be her. Oh, hey!" he exclaimed as though he just thought of something, "I dare you to think _this_ isn't real." There was a rustle of plastic and metal clicking, then a muttered "Hang on," and Loki felt the cottony fabric once again, this time on his ears, one after the other. A moment later, something soft and mildly scratchy, like some highly porous material snugly cradled each ear.

Loki had ample time to wonder what in the Nine the hallucination thought it was doing before there was a click, then, directly into his ears he heard a tribal chant: "Ouga-chacka, ouga ouga-chacka . . ." it wasn't long before it evolved into the song he recognized from Quill's earlier singing. It was loud and annoying, much like the Quill hallucination itself. As a product of his imagination, Loki must have heard it somewhere before, but he couldn't remember when or where. Such things were depressingly more and more commonplace, now, when forgetfulness on his part used to be a rare occurrence. It sounded Midgardian, but he couldn't be sure.

While Loki was puzzled by the vividness and originality of the illusory song and situation as a whole, he barely registered the fact that his bonds had now become slack. It didn't do him much good, since his arms were basically useless from how long he'd hung by them in the first place. His fingers, easily bitten off, then hands, then his forearms had been among the first bits to go. He'd been trussed up by his elbow joints ever since.

The Quill voice barked a note of triumph as Loki felt the ropes that used to bind him to stone at his back suddenly tie themselves around something with far more give to his front, "Dude, even for half a dude, this guy's heavy," Quill observed inelegantly.

"If you're done, let's get out of here," the Gamora voice snapped.

The breath hitched in Loki's chest as he actually felt his body move for the first time in . . . he didn't dare speculate how long. There was wind disturbance on half of his face, and the other half was cradled against warm flesh and short hair, as though he was actually being carried on someone's back.

True movement, non-horrific sounds, almost gentle sensations, witty banter with no open hostility toward him, even new _music_ . . . a new idea dawned on Loki, and he choked on hope. Maybe . . . maybe this wasn't all a hallucination, after all. He was . . . being rescued? In the middle of a place worse than death, the work of two people, completely unbidden . . . Not even . . . not even those he once called _family_ would do this for him.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be. _It was._

It didn't take Odin to tell him the truth of an impossibility, now. If he hadn't been so dehydrated, tears of unbelieving joy would have welled and stung at the corners of his ruined eyes, and something deep inside Loki well and truly _broke._

He started laughing.

It was quiet at first, like a breathy giggle, but as he bounced and jostled on Quill's back, the disturbance grew steadily louder. Before long, it was hysterical, drowning out the repeated song in his ears.

The voices and movement continued, and Loki knew he was truly mad, now.

"Would you shut him up? He's so loud every Chitauri from here to Xandar can hear him! They're starting to close in!"

"What do you want me to do, shove a gag down his throat and choke him to death?"

"At least he'd be quiet that way!"

"No, absolutely not."

"Then leave him here. We cut our losses and escape with our lives. With any luck, they'll be drawn to him with that insane laugh. They didn't kill him for a reason, right?"

There was hesitation, then Loki felt the rope release as he dropped heavily to the ground. The foamy device was removed from his ears, and Loki only laughed harder.

Loki was still laughing when his captors surrounded him and with confused chittering brought another, different voice.

"Star-Lord and Gamora?" the newcomer's voice resonated deeply, harshly, "And they wanted this thing?"

There were hisses of confirmation.

"Interesting. Tell me, creature, what is your name?"

For once, Loki knew without a doubt that this was no simple auditory hallucination. In that case, he had nothing to lose by supplying the prompted information. He willed his insane cackles to slow and finally stop before he replied, "Loki. Of Asgard," then snorted another chuckle.

"Loki of Asgard," the supposed leader growled, testing the unfamiliar syllables, "Our master will grant you glorious purpose. Does that appeal to you?"

Purpose. It was far more than he had right now. His pride had long-since deserted him. Not even his sanity was truly left to him, anymore, only the name he had just given freely. He felt a mad rictus spread over his features. "Why not?"

The voice seemed pleased, but it was mildly difficult to tell with the alien tones, "Bring him. We will see what Master Thanos can do with an Asgardian."

* * *

Weeks or months, or however long later, a single _a capella_ voice wafted through the air ducts and halls of Stark Tower from a previously pristine laboratory space. The building had just been finished before the fighting started, and Tony Stark had been sure that he'd thought of all eventualities, designing the tower to have everything he and his company could ever want, from playrooms and vacuum chambers to kitchens and even a medical clinic. Now that the war, such as it had been, was over, Tony had suddenly found himself in dire need of some sort of prison.

And earplugs.

Their prisoner was now handcuffed in one of the new labs, and the owner of Stark Industries was acutely aware in hindsight that he should have acoustically damped all the laboratory spaces.

It was definitely something to consider for the re-build.

"Where the hell did Loki learn 'Hooked on a Feeling,' anyway?" Tony griped to his current companion, two floors above where the insane Asgardian was holding his impromptu concert.

"I do not know," Thor answered honestly, chowing down on whatever thing he'd rescued from the un-powered fridge, "When I asked him, he claimed not to remember, which is odd for him. He usually revels in the accuracy of his memory," the big blonde looked thoughtful, "To my knowledge, the last time Loki visited Midgard in person was over one hundred years ago. From your knowledge of the song, I would guess it is far more recent than that."

"Yeah, you're right about that," Tony confirmed, "Argh, if only Jarvis was up and working, I could play some AC/DC to tune him out!" he complained.

The thunder god shrugged, "At least while he is singing, we do not need to be in his presence to observe him. Personally, I've always found his voice rather pleasant."

Tony grudgingly admitted that Thor had a point there by making a face, "Yeah, but doesn't he know any other songs? He's been singing that for _hours._"

"Certainly."

"Do you think we could get him to sing one of them? _Any_ of them?"

"Probably not."

"So he's doing this specifically to annoy us."

"Most likely."

Tony sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, big guy, but your brother's an asshole."

Thor made a noise of acknowledgement around his latest bite of whatever-the-hell.

Tony thought back to the restraints Thor had produced for Loki's wrists, covered in runes and metal that screamed "I mean business." "Think we could get a muzzle to match those pretty bracelets you got him?"

Thor cocked his head thoughtfully and swallowed. "That is a possibility. I will ask, Friend Stark."


End file.
